by Etta Faire
I nodded, but my head didn't feel like it was moving through air anymore. It felt like I was moving through some sort of plasma, like jello.
The only annoying part was the breathing. Loud and exaggerated, it reminded me of the first and only time I ever went scuba diving on our vacation to Mexico. No training, no regulations. Just here’s a wetsuit, breathe into this apparatus, and good luck. I ended up freaking out in the first three minutes and had to swim back to shore. Jackson swam back with me, even though I could tell he didn't want to.
“Relax,” Jackson said. "We're not in Cabo anymore."
Were we sharing that memory of scuba diving just then?
"Stop thinking about your breathing, and you won't hear it as much. You can open your eyes."
I opened them. It was fuzzy at first, kind of like swimming with goggles. And a pain spread across my abdomen as if someone had punched me in the stomach, an odd, lingering aching.
I realized it was the feeling of full. Jackson took another bite of what tasted like medium-rare, melt-in-your-mouth, bacon-wrapped steak with -- what was that -- yes, mushrooms. And as if at once, I knew I was going to love this channeling thing. And I no longer heard my annoying breathing at all.
Instead, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter surrounded me. I recognized the hall immediately as being a part of the country club. Nice tables with fine white table cloths and waiters hustling about. An extra-large red, white, and blue banner was pinned above the huge stone fireplace with "Re-Elect Mayor Bowman" sprawled across the face of it. The smells of steak, corn, and potatoes wafted up from plates. Jackson slipped his plastic cup full of coke under the table and added some rum from his pocket.
I hissed under my breath when I noticed. "Please tell me you were not that kind of a drunk in your last days. I'm beginning to believe the heart attack was a real one.”
"Trust me. You'd booze it up too if you had to snooze through the family gatherings I had to go to. Listen to this guy."
I turned my attention to the rest of the table where Jackson’s uncle and cousins were sitting, along with the mayor from Landover and his wife. Mayor Bowman was in the middle of telling a story, and everyone else was pretending to pay attention, nodding and smiling.
The mayor’s voice was loud and confident, like he wanted the other tables to hear his amazing story too. “And that’s why Mason had to pawn Grandpa Earl’s watch to pay for the damage. But then, that was my brother for you. He would've sold Gate House too, I'm sure of it, if anyone had given him the chance.”
Mayor Wittle laughed from his corn. “That is one heck of a story,” he said, this thin turkey neck looked like it might snap under the weight of his lightbulb-shaped head.
Jackson brought his drink back on the table and swished it around noisily with his fork like he didn't care who saw him doing it.
"Don't lecture me,” he said to me in his head. “I take a cab to the Starlight."
The mayor pouted sympathetically at my ex. "Sorry. You would've loved that Rolex, Jackson. Passed down for generations,” the mayor said to my ex. "But like I was saying, your father was a businessman not a sentimental one.”
Jackson pulled his sleeve up to reveal an antique Rolex. "This Rolex? My father tracked the watch down a year after he pawned it. He had to pay double, but he got it back. A bit more sentimental than he's given credit for, I'm afraid. In other words, he would never, ever approve of anyone selling even a smidgen of Gate House property to build a road. So you can stop telling me stories about my father now. You can stop pretending this is about family."
Mrs. Wittle's mouth fell open and I saw corn stuck along her graying teeth.
"Settle down, Jackson," Caleb said from across the table. "Nobody said anything about the road. We know how you feel about it." He turned to Julie and muttered the last part, but loud enough for the table to hear. "Even though, technically, and we all know this, part of that inheritance should've gone to our father when Grandfather died. We should've contested it."
Julie nodded.
"The inheritance is always passed down to one Bowman only," Jackson said, chugging his drink. "I'm sorry, but our grandfather made his choice. And so did my father. I will too, someday."
I watched their faces tighten. "They're about to come after you with their steak knives," I said. "You know that, right?"
"I suppose those steak knives are pointed at you now." He chuckled in my head.
Jackson looked out the window at the lake and the long pier with about 20 boats tied up along the side, thumping against their ropes. He sipped his rum and coke. “We’re all like those boats tied up along the pier,” he said to the table, pointing until they all turned to look at them. “Only here because we were roped into it.”
“Jackass,” the mayor said.
Jackson talked back to me in his head again. "Honestly, I didn't care what they thought of me at the time. Looking back, I guess I should have. I was only here because I was obligated to do family things if the press was involved.”
He looked over at a squatty blonde with a camera, taking pictures of the various tables, asking people questions with a recorder in her hands.
“So, I gave the required donation. I stayed the appropriate amount of time," he said to me as he downed his last gulps of drink.
"And you got the proper amount of poison," I added.
Jackson went back to eating even though we were full. I could see why. I always ate when I was avoiding conversation too, but I was happy he did. I've never tasted such delicious steak. Maybe food just tasted better in a channeling.
"If you'll excuse me," Mayor Bowman said to the table, standing up. "I have a speech to make."
He whispered something to the waiter who was busy handing out slices of cake before he moved onto the podium.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the waiter intensely, noting what cake pieces he gave out. He handed the Wittles theirs from the outer part of his circular tray, then moved onto Julie and her husband, same spots. Caleb next. Then he went to Jackson where he pulled the cake from dead center. Jackson put it back on the tray and took a different piece from the edge. “Thank you. I prefer a bit more frosting.”
“Of course,” the man said, then hustled off with the tray.
“I had grown suspicious,” he said to me.
“More like paranoid.”
“Not paranoid enough,” he replied. “I ended up dead, remember?”
Mayor Bowman coughed into the mic and introduced himself, thanking everyone for coming, calling out sponsors by name. Wittle Construction, the company owned by Mayor Wittle's sons and grandsons. They stood up and waved. No doubt they stood a lot to lose on this road never being built or approved. Kick-backs, rigged bids, misappropriated funds...
"And, of course, my amazing family," the mayor went on. "My son and sheriff of this fine city, Caleb Bowman. My daughter, Julie, and her husband, Arnold.”
He never once mentioned Jackson. I wondered how that made my ex feel. His parents were gone. And these people were his only family left.
Jackson hunched over and snuck out, barely able to dodge the waiters with their cake trays. He bumped into one and mumbled an already-slurred apology that the waiter did not stick around to hear.
"I headed straight over to the Starlight," he told me as we staggered out the large glass doors of the country club without many people noticing. The cool breeze blew hard against his face, his stomach aching in a stretched-beyond-capacity way. I could tell, he was already pretty out of it.
"Destiny told me she had a surprise for me," he went on. "Close your eyes and relax, and I'll fast forward to the good stuff."
I had no idea what he meant by that.
Chapter 21
Mounting Evidence
There was less fog this time when I opened my eyes and a lot more clarity. A dozen half-naked women stood all around Jackson as he walked along a dimly lit hallway. Destiny was ahead of him, her bleach blonde hair in its trademark pigtails swo
oshing along her shoulder blades. Her dress was short, bare in the back, and bright blue like her stilettos.
"Whichever one you like, Jackie," she said, touching his chin, causing my heavy breathing to grow heavier. I reminded myself this wasn't happening to me. This was Jackson's memory. She was only seeing Jackson's chin.
She pointed to the redhead who was coming straight for us in the hall. The woman brushed purposely against Jackson as she passed, pressing herself lightly on his chest. The smell of coconut oil took over my senses. "Oh, excuse me, Jackson," she giggled like she hadn't meant to bump into him. "You two headed to the champagne room?"
Destiny nodded, but the redhead moved on, and so did we, toward the back where the VIP rooms apparently were. Destiny waved to two women coming out of the bathroom. I recognized them immediately. Candace and Heather. It was surreal seeing the two deceased women I'd only known from pictures on the news.
Candace was a petite brunette with hair extensions and long bright pink nails. Heather was the taller one who liked to toss her sandy blonde highlighted curls from shoulder to shoulder as she laughed, over nothing.
"I recommend this one," Destiny said, pointing to Candace. "You remember her, right? We like her."
"Her," I found myself saying. I pointed to Candace. "Yes. The one from my English class. The other one too, if you can swing it."
Destiny winked at me, running a hand up between Jackson’s legs, cupping and stroking him gently. "I thought you'd like her. I bet I know someone who's about to get an A this semester."
She laughed as Jackson traced her inner thigh with the tip of his finger. Destiny held up the one-minute sign. "I'll be right back with your request," she said, sashaying off down the hall.
"You can skip over some things," I yelled in my head to Jackson.
Jackson laughed. "You're saying I should fast forward to the really good stuff."
"I'm saying, keep it PG."
"It's like a virtual reality porno, though. Most people would thank me."
I looked around while Destiny was gone. It was really weird being here, and even weirder being here as my creepy ex-husband. Unfortunately, I could only go where the memory took me but I scanned everyone's face as they passed us in the hall. That's when I saw him. Bobby Franklin, Shelby Winehouse's fiancé. I doubted that bouncer needed to be back here. I was going to keep my eye on him, if I could. Bobby kept his head down, probably hoping not to have to say anything to Jackson.
Jackson made eye contact with him as he passed us. "Shelby would make a lot more money working here," Jackson said to him, and I cringed in my channeling. Cringed. How in the world did my disgusting ex even make it to 50?
Bobby looked like he wanted to strangle him. A lot of people gave Jackson that look. "She's pregnant, you ass," he said, and I cringed again. Bobby went on, his hand in a fist now. "And if she even talked about working here.” He paused to punch his fist into his other hand. “I’d have issues.”
A brunette who looked a lot like the girl from the Bulldog with big boobs and way too much makeup walked out of the bathroom and down the hall. Bobby followed her, staring at her butt the whole time. Poor Shelby. Her boyfriend was a creeper who made fist-motions when he talked about her.
I spoke to Jackson in my mind as soon as the creeper left. "What the hell was that?”
"Just making small talk," he replied. "We joke."
"That's not joking. That's trying really hard to get your ass kicked."
When Destiny came back, she was carrying a large green drink. "Your margarita, sir," she said.
"I don't drink margaritas," Jackson replied. “And I brought my own.” He patted his jacket pocket where the flask was.
She stroked the hair around his ears. Destiny's face was close to Jackson’s, too close. I never noticed how her chin came to a severe point at the bottom before. "The girl in your class is named Candace in case you don't remember. She's 18, says you're the cutest professor at LU, and guessed that margaritas were your favorite drink so she had me order one for you. Blended with salt. I’ll tell her you’re not interested.”
Jackson grabbed the glass, but in his already sloppy state caused cold margarita to spill along his hand. ”Tell her she was one-hundred-percent correct about the margarita.” He swigged down a large gulp of the drink, wiping the salt with the back of his sleeve. It tasted way too sweet, weird. I immediately wanted to throw up, probably because I was feeling the way Jackson would have felt after drinking a margarita.
Destiny walked off, and I had a hard time tracking her movement.
“I can’t tell if you’re drunk or drugged,” I said.
Jackson didn’t say anything, making me think he was already too far gone.
The floor felt slanted, my brain did too. Slanted and numb. Things were spinning a little. "I need to lie down," Jackson managed to say but it took just about every ounce of energy he had to get the words out.
Candace bounced over to him. Her long waves were a dark contrast to her pale Snow-White-like complexion. "I love your class, Professor Bowman," she said.
"Call me Jackson," he replied. His voice was shaky and weird, but I had no idea if I was hearing it wrong or if he was saying it like that.
She continued like I was making sense. "Destiny's like a big sister to me," she said, curling her arm around his. "Of course, sisters share everything."
Up was down and down was up at this point in the game. Her voice came at me in a jumbled mess. I tried to decipher the code. Jackson was definitely having a hard time following, but I was pretty sure I could do it if I concentrated hard enough. He was under the influence, but I was the part of us that wasn't. If I could separate myself from Jackson, maybe I could clearly see the things going on around here.
"Relax," she said, leading me into what was probably the champagne room. I felt Jackson's shoulders soften, his breathing slow down, as if he was relaxing on her command. She gently set his half-empty margarita down on the coffee table then pushed him hard onto the couch that was just about the only other thing in the room besides a mini bar and some pumped-in dance music.
She climbed on top of Jackson as soon as he flopped onto the dark brown cushions. Candace's very thin silky short robe rode up a little as she climbed her way across Jackson’s body, making me realize she wasn't wearing anything else. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, giggling as she did. I refused to let myself think about it, reminding myself I needed to look around the room instead. But first, of course, I compared our boobs. She was like a full cup bigger than my Bs. Hers were probably fake, though.
Candace was obviously a great distraction for my ex-husband, and it was shocking for me to find out just what really went on in the clubs he used to go to.
You're no longer married to him. You don't care.
It was this thought that helped me detach, to help the room stop spinning as much.
"I always liked you, professor," Candace said with large, pouty lips that were a ridiculously shiny red. Her breath smelled like tic tacs, the green kind. I tried to concentrate on the details, one at a time. I found that when I concentrated hard on the details, I no longer felt out of control. It was like the part of Jackson who was laying half out of his mind on the soft leather couch of the VIP room was not the same as me. The details seemed to ground me to the place and not the person.
Another figure came into the room. At least one. They were kind of blurry, but I was pretty sure the tall blonde blur coming over to me was Heather Telamario.
Candace's mouth hit mine with unexpected force. It was sticky from way too much gloss as her tongue snaked its way through my lips. "Professor," she said. “How would you grade my performance so far?“ Both girls laughed.
I turned my vision to the side, hoping to find what Destiny was doing while this fatal distraction was going on. I had a feeling none of what Jackson was experiencing right now was in compliance with the club's official policies, VIP room or not. Or I hoped they at least wiped down the leather
couches in between clients.
Through foggy vision, I saw Destiny standing by my margarita glass, tapping on a syringe to the beat of the Beyonce song playing in the background. First, a laced margarita and now a syringe? Jackson was right. He'd been given something, maybe poison. Or maybe he was into injecting drugs. I had no idea what my perverted ex-husband had been into.
While Candace and Heather's hands explored Jackson's drugged-out body, Destiny sashayed over to me with the syringe. I could smell her perfume when she sat down on the floor by the couch and grabbed Jackson’s arm that seemed to have no resistance left in it. It flopped into her hands.
"Jackson, honey," she said from some faraway place in my mind. She put something in my hand. "Hold this."
Jackson's hand formed around an object. It was thin and long. At first I thought it was the syringe. It was a pen, maybe.
"Sign your name here." She put my hand on the paper. "You remember how to do that right? Sign Jackson Bowman. Jack-son Bow-man,” she said, enunciating her syllables.
My hand flopped to the floor like she'd let go of a dumbbell.
"Come on," she said, her voice raising into frustration. She shook me a little.
I tried to see what he was signing, but Jackson's eyes were barely focusing, and could see much better farther away. I tried to shake my head no. Nothing happened. No responses from Jackson at all, except maybe a little drool.
"He's too out of it," I heard what was probably Candace say. "We can try it again later."
Destiny smacked my face hard, again and again. "You've gotta be kidding me. Do you know how hard it was to get him here in the first place? I had to promise him a surprise." She lifted my sleeve up, stroking my arm gently along my elbow and up around my biceps. "This. This is your surprise."
"He needs to sign first," a low voice said from the back of he room.
"His eyes are still open," Candace replied. "Maybe he can still do it."
I scanned the room to see if I could find the bottle Destiny had planned to inject me with before Jackson went farther under.